


Lux

by Ruby_Wednesday



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Festivals, M/M, Post-Kings Rising, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-25
Updated: 2016-08-25
Packaged: 2018-08-11 00:43:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7868473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruby_Wednesday/pseuds/Ruby_Wednesday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Laurent's first experience of the famous Akielon fire festival.</p>
<p>Captive Prince Week Day Four -<i>Spring in Ios</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Lux

**Author's Note:**

> Lux- from the Latin for light.
> 
> The actual prompts were Spring in Arles/Summer in Ios but I switched it up because I assume by what we know of the timeline that the fire festival (which is mentioned briefly in The Training of Erasmus) takes place in Spring.

The shutters were drawn tight, lest the crowd below catch a glimpse of their King too soon and dissolve into chaos. If Laurent wasn’t distracted by the drumbeat of his heart, he might have found that amusing. Being beloved from afar was no strange occurrence for him. The people of Vere had always shown a romantic, soft affection for the youngest prince. But Akielons loved Damen passionately, as if fervor could be enough to absorb some of his strength into their own selves.

“My father used to do this every year,” Damen said, somewhat distantly, as talk of his father always was. The loss still gnawed at him; the knowledge he did not see what could have prevented it was a bite down to the bone. Laurent knew Damen tended to push aside hurtful things, excluding himself of course. “Even last year, when he was sick, Kastor and I helped him walk out and at the very last second he found the strength to stand alone. At the time, I thought it was pride. I wonder now if he didn’t do it for them.” The crowd chanting below in the streets of Ios.

“You take after him,” Laurent said.

“In some ways.”

“Perhaps I should stay back,” Laurent said. “They should see you alone, the first year.”

“No,” said Damen. “The first year should be the same as all the years to come.”

“Whatever you say, Exalted.” With a smile, because Laurent enjoyed teasing Damen about the authority he wielded on all who would accept it. And everyone but Laurent accepted his power though even Laurent enjoyed submitting to it, too, sometimes. “Come here.” Damen was already standing right beside him, so he lowered his head which was exactly what Laurent meant. He pushed one dark curl around the lopsided laurels, then attempted to straighten the crown.

“I told you before, my ears are not even,” Damen said.

“It sits on your head not your ears.” Laurent adjusted it one last time, noticing, not for the first time that the gold matched the cuff on his own wrist. He straightened the lion pin at Damen’s shoulder, and pulled the red cloak to the front. Akielon chitons were revealing and the people liked to see the healthy body of their King. Laurent preferred modesty for himself but also for Damen, when there was a chance the cloak would slip and reveal the scars to all his subjects. “Not that the details are obvious from such a height,” he added, mostly for his own benefit.

They wouldn’t be able to see the colour in his cheeks either.

“Are we ready?” Damen asked, as the guards put a hand on each shutter.

“Is that the royal we or are you talking about both of us?”

Damen smiled. “It’s the same thing.”

The shutters opened, and then there was nothing but noise.

Laurent followed Damen. Protocol. He watched as Damen waved, dignified, and even from this distance managed to exude warmth down to his people. He was everything they could want in a King and more. Why, he survived his own death. You couldn’t get much hardier than that. Damen was physically perfect, the picture of health with his dark hair and dark skin contrasting with the marble palace and the white cliffs. Beside him, with his pale hair and midnight clothing, Laurent though he must give the impression of a buzzing bluebottle fly.

There was no sound but the crowd, even the waves were drowned out.

The Fire Festival was important to Akielons for reasons Laurent could not quite understand. He had read the histories of course, and asked discreetly.

It’s the fourth biggest festival of the year, they said. Everyone eats char-grilled meat and pours brandywine on fruitcake before setting it alight. There’s no work the day after. The (former) slaves practice for months. The King lights the first fire. It’s tradition, Laurent. You have to be there. It’s important.

It was all still a bit of a mystery but Laurent had dutifully postponed his pressing commitments in Vere just to stand beside Damen as he smiled benevolently down at a crowd.

The King lights the first fire. That much, Laurent knew. That same flame would light another fire, and another, until all of Ios was aglow. The spark struck by the King would travel to every oven, hearth and torch in the city. Some people stoked it, preserved it, refused to let the King’s fire go out. It was the closest they would ever get to him.

Damen held a hand up for silence, and received it.

“We begin the fire festival,” he said, voice booming as thunder, “With a moment of silence for the late King Theomedes.”

Laurent did his best to look appropriately sombre.

“We continue,” Damen said. “With a new flame and a new era for Ios. May it be a beacon in the darkness and the centre of joy in the bright times. Wherever it burns, let all who look upon it know they can follow it home.” A pause. He was good at giving speeches. Laurent remembered the surge of confidence he had felt whenever Damen had directed that powerful voice and well chosen words at him. “Follow it home, as I did,” he continued. “Thanks to the support of our friend, King Laurent of Vere.”

The cheer was not for Laurent but for Damen’s return. But he raised an arm to the crowd all the same and allow himself a second to pretend it was for him.

Damen picked up a shard of flint, which he struck against the blade of his sword. There had been talk of using a pre-lit torch, for fear the King would not get the flame to catch. The idea of not being able to successfully light a fire, even with the collective gaze of all of Ios weighing down him, was preposterous to Damen and he made that very clear.

Sparks flew, and fire flared up from the torch. The crowd reacted as if it was their first time seeing fire.

Smiling, perhaps pointedly at the nervous advisers, Damen lifted the specially constructed torch and held it up to the crowd.

“Don’t burn your fingers,” Laurent murmured. “I wish to for you to make use of them later. You know where I like it.”

Damen’s mouth twitched but he was otherwise non-reactive. Laurent would have been proud, if he didn’t take so much pleasure in catching Damen by surprise.

“The King lights the first fire,” Damen called. “We lower it down for all of you.” There was a pulley system, and a special lamp enclosure, the mechanics of which the Akielons were generally very proud of. “This torch is on a chain,” he said. “Under our reign, that is all that will be chained.”

Less popular of a statement, one the nervous advisers had definitely not sanctioned, but Damen was determined. And the brightness of the fire as it began its slow descent from the King’s balcony to the dusty streets of Ios was more than enough to sweeten the words. Side by side, they watched the flame dip and Laurent thought of the sun disappearing beyond the horizon. There were private balconies at the palace, too, and sunsets in Damen’s arms had fast become one of Laurent’s favourite activity.

Once the fire had been received by the waiting stewards on the ground, and Damen gave one last gesture this time raising Laurent’s arm as well as his own, they retreated back into the palace.

“Duty done,” Damen said. “Now for the festivities.”  
-  
Another consequence of Damen’s return and coronation, was that he and Laurent had to attend many festivities. Privately, Laurent thought Akielons would take any excuse for a celebration but he did not voice that to Damen who enjoyed the feasts and entertainments greatly. They were what he had grown up with. But Laurent also suspected that had Damen been raised a tee-total ascetic he still would enjoy festivities now.

A consequence of the sheer volume of celebrations, was that Laurent had grown fairly comfortable with attending them. He spoke jovially (to select people) where once he would have flung acidic barbs at anyone he did not have need to charm. He had grown used to the loss of privacy, and the fact everyone from here to Vask knew the nature of his and Damen’s relationship. Some days, he even reveled in it. Though there were still political concerns aplenty, loving Damianos of Akielos wasn’t hard at all now.

There was a formal entrance to the great hall, the same great hall where Laurent had nearly been killed and Damen had declared not only his love but being proud of that love, accompanied by fanfare and surprise surprise more cheers. There was free-flowing wine and food that tasted wonderfully of charcoal. Subtle entertainments — dancing and kithara and lithe young men who could juggle fire (courtesy of the Veretian court though the most adept young man had been emphatically banned) — added to the atmosphere but did not strip focus from the simple act of socialising. These were people who could talk and joke without needing something sordid to grab their attention.

It brought a little bit of satisfaction to Laurent to see the Veretians in attendance casually mingling as well as Akielons. Away from the seediness that had long ago rooted in Arles, and the twisted machinations of his uncle, Laurent’s people were just as any other.

The marble walls were warm tonight. The shadows were inviting.

Somewhere in the crowd, Damen had been swept away to talk to a man who knew a man who knew his mother. Then a magistrate from Aegina and a noble woman from Isthima all wanted his attention and that was all right, too. Laurent was content to lean against a column, one heel raised and pressed against the surface, and politely nod while a very influential lord talked about his very boring figurine collection.

“Fascinating,” said Laurent, at suitable intervals. He was watching Damen. It was not all hard to imagine that the flame from the balcony was taking hold all through the city. Another glass of wine, and Laurent might picture it blazing through the land.

“Fascinating, indeed,” said Vannes, joining the cosy duo. They had an unspoken agreement to rescue each other from dull partygoers. She was fast, which meant she got there before Damen caught a glimpse and began to fret that Laurent would offend someone. Well, that was a preferable concept to thinking Damen believed him incapable of these ordinary social situations just because they weren’t as normal to Laurent as him.

Laurent’s reputation as cold blooded was enough to scare people away when it looked like Vannes might start bleeding from her eyeballs from sheer frustration.

“Did you know,” she continued, speaking to the lord after a perfunctory bow towards Laurent. “Benoit over there has a fine collection of duckling ornaments. That’s him in the green doublet.”

“Not the Marches ducklings?” The man’s eyes went wide. “Nikandros banned trading of such artifacts five years ago. But now…please, excuse me Your Majesty.”

“By all means,” Laurent said. “Vannes, was any of that true?”

She shrugged. “Perhaps.” After a long look around the hall she said, “This is what you delayed your coronation for? A fire festival.”

“Yes.”

“The long awaited coronation to come after you turned twenty one. The coronation of a King in Vere, when there has been no King in Vere in seven years.”

“Yes. How much wine have you had?”

“Not enough.” Waving over a servant. “You did well on the balcony,” she said.

“Glad to have met your approval.”

“It’s not my approval that matters. The crowd positively swooned.”

Laurent definitely snorted. “For Damianos.”

“Men like him are in abundance down here.” Following a group of soldiers with her appreciative gaze. “Luckily for me. But you are their rare flower. Not to mention —”

“Yes, Damen spins a pretty tale. Laurent, the prince who was too righteous to murder the man who killed his brother and saved the heir and set him free and brought the men who revealed the truth of the coup and the regicide. Aren’t I a catch?”

“Well, he tells it better than you,” Vannes said. “Now, will you tell me the point of all this?”

“It’s an old tradition,” Laurent replied. “I believe it was a folk thing even in the old empire. When Queen Agar conquered Isthima and made it part of Akielos, the fire festival took this new form. It’s a sign that —”

A roar went up at a nearby table, where a group of young men and women were lighting thimble-size cups of liqueur on fire before drinking them down. Laurent could hear them daring each other to ask the King to take part.

“A sign Akielons like drinking and burning things?” Vannes suggested.

Laurent ignored her, and stalked towards the table with the ease of a lion.

“Which King?” he asked, archly. His attention to the table brought the attention of the whole party on to him.

“You, your majesty,” stammered a glassy-eyed boy.

“No, I’m sorry. We meant Damianos-Exalted,” said one of the girls.

It was quite clear they didn’t know what to say.

So Laurent reached over their heads and pilfered two cups, as was his right as King.

“I think,” he told them. “Both of your Kings can manage a cup.” Like clockwork, Damen appeared at his shoulder. “Do the honours, please, Exalted.”

With an expression Laurent recognised from the jewel-silk tents in Vere, Damen touched the wick of a fat candle to each of the cups. For a moment the alcohol burned blue, until Damen leaned in and blew it out.

“I said, please,” Laurent said in Veretian. “Don’t give me that look

“Cheers,” said Damen, raising his cup.

“To your health,” Laurent replied, looking Damen dead in the eyes. The heat from the alcohol warmed his face. The intensity in Damen’s gaze made him a little light-headed before any drink had passed his lips. It was one of those raw moments that took Laurent’s breath away and made his blood rush south.

It was, however, observed by a great many Akielons and they both had to take the drink.

Damen cursed and screwed his face up like a confused puppy.

Laurent made no outward concession to the burning hell-swill rushing down his throat.

“Thank you,” he said, politely, to the gawking boys and girls. “Damianos, shall we sit?”

“If you wanted my attention, you should have just called my name.” Damen’s voice was hot on the back of his neck as the took their places at the head table.

“Still with the constituion of an ox,” called Makedon, as they passed. “Ha! Did I ever tell you about the okton?” To his tablemates. He did more work than any royal edict to ingratiate Laurent to the Akielon population.

“Maybe I just wanted to get drunk.”

“Did you?” Damen’s eyes gleamed.

“No. But I do take every effort still to build my tolerance.” Laurent took a long drink of minted lemon water to cleanse his mouth. Damen took wine. “It’s going well, yes? They all love you.”

“It’s more important they enjoy it with each other,” Damen said. “We’re departing soon. The harmony must hold without my presence.”

“Now aren’t you glad I gave you the chance for Nikandros to be kyros here,” Laurent said. They could joke about these things now. Granted, he had always been willing to tease and so had Damen but the sting was gone.

“Exceedingly,” Damen replied, dryly. Nikandros was not present tonight. He was making use of the summer palace with a few former slaves who had chosen to remain in his retinue after they had been freed. Laurent didn’t quite see the appeal but he couldn’t deny that Damen’s friend deserved a break. “He’ll have his work cut out for him in our absence.”

“I rather think it will be easier,” offered Vannes. As a councilor, she was seated near Laurent. It gave her the best view of all her potential conquests. She was smiling knowingly now at a voluptuous Akeilon girl whose sheer red dress did little to cover her best assets. “I don’t know how Nikandros puts up with you.”

“You do it all the time,” Laurent replied, sweet enough for Vannes to know he was not amused.

“But I’m not emotionally invested,” she replied, with equal sweetness.

“You came here for the festivity?” Damen said.

“Hardly.”

“It must be me then,” he continued. “I see you looking at all my fellow Akielons. I bet you haven’t been able to get that night in the palace gardens in Arles out of your head. We are very well-endowed, my people.”

Laurent nearly choked on his own breath. “Damen,” he managed to say, unsure if he should be proud of him from matching Vannes’ barbs or horrified at the memory.

“Look,” Damen said. “They’re going to carve the meat.”

In keeping the the theme of the festivity, the meats were spit roasted above open flame. The flat breads were freshly baked in portable stone ovens. Vegetables were charred on racks above glowing stones. It would soot the marble hall but it was also a nice reminder of the boon fire was in all their lives, even so far south they rarely got cold. It was rustic, uncomplicated and thoroughly enjoyable.

Laurent ate with his fingers, thinking of carefree moments. A look at Damen, when he brought a morsel of warm bread to his lips had them both thinking of heated moments.

“They used to say that in Akielos, slaves feed their masters.” Laurent’s voice was little more than a murmur. Damen had to lean in, as a master would never do towards a slave.

“They still say that in stubborn places,” Damen said. Rather sensibly, he had not put out a blanket ban on slavery as soon as he was crowned. In ruling, the heart sometimes had to be left aside for practicality. Laurent knew pain lingered within Damen, and he felt it for other people rather than himself. “But there are no slaves here tonight.”

Which wasn’t strictly true. There were many former slaves who occupied the same roles and wore the same clothes. It was difficult to tell if they really understood they were free but Laurent would sometimes see a flash of bravery within someone, or a lingering look at the golden cuffs, and feel like freedom was not something that happened to everyone overnight.

After all, he was still gaining his own.

“Perhaps we might take dessert in private,” Laurent suggested.

“After a walk in the gardens,” Damen countered and Laurent’s heart was doing funny things inside his chest. Sending his blood south again was one of them but there was a softness there too. And longing. He thought it would feel different, with the barriers between them stripped away. He thought the pressing need might lessen. If anything, it increased as the knots inside himself lessened.

Some nights, he thought he’d go crazy with it.

There was a time in this great hall, where slaves would eat before they got here or late at night after their masters were done with them, but tonight everyone dined as equals. It was quietly chipper for a while, until some musicians prepared to perform in the centre of the room. Former slaves, a couple of traveling troupers, and one big-eyed boy that Damen pointed out as Heston’s nephew. An unexpected consequence of the new regime was that new roles were open to those who would have previously been denied them.

Laurent watched them stretch and hum and check their instruments, knowing this was not how it would be among slaves. They would present themselves perfectly as if there was something wrong with warming up.

“They’re waiting for your go ahead, Damen.”

“I’m thinking about what to call for.”

“Be quick or I’ll ask for the new Veretian limerick. You know, about the Regent who was only a runt and when —”

“The kyroi would love that.” Damen flashed a sarcastic sidelong smile.

“They probably would,” Laurent said. “The second verse though, might not be so welcome.” There were a surprising amount of apt words that rhymed with bastard, none of which would flatter Damen or his family. “How about your old favourite about Arsaces who loved so wholly? In columned halls we wait…”

“We would be thrilled to hear Artes Flowers,” Damen cut him off. Another politic choice, that would have the advisers hand-wringing again. It was an old song about the scattered leaves of the old empire. Damen felt like it was in their best interest to remind anyone and everyone about the glory of the old days so new days would be welcomed. “One verse,” he said to Laurent. “Then we leave.”

“For a walk in the gardens?”

“It’s part of the festivities,” Damen said. “The King lights the fire. He doesn’t stay to watch it burn.”

“Symbolism again.”

  
“Maybe the Queen just wanted an excuse to escape early.” Damen stood. Before a servant could approach or Laurent could follow, Damen had pulled back his heavy oak chair so he could stand with ease. “No-one’s going to waylay us tonight.”

  
The music was reaching a crescendo as the door shuts behind them. Somewhere, there were guards. They have very loyal discreet guards. But in Laurent’s mind, the closed door meant everyone else was gone and he felt like on this issue he and Damen thought in sync. The door was barely closed and Damen was capturing his mouth with a kiss so intense Laurent grew dizzy.

  
He drew back, fumbling through his internal arsenal for a witty remark, and came up with nothing because Damen was looking at him just so.

  
“Are you —”

  
“It was very smoky in there,” Damen said, shining eyes averted. “Where did you learn those lines?”

  
“What? Oh, Arsaces,” Laurent replied, though he knew fine well what Damen meant. In Akielos, poetry was performed in the dialect of Isthima and was therefore the domain of upper classes and those who existed just to entertain upper classes. The accent was broader. It was more academic than Laurent’s spoken Akielon, learned under duress in the name of royalty and later at Damen’s side.

  
Damen was walking now, and Laurent beside him, arm to arm. Moving did not lessen the weight to Damen’s question.

  
“It’s your favourite, I wanted to know why,” Laurent admitted. “I’ve been learning it, well, since Ravenel? But since you said I should make use of all the books here and the dialect was more of a challenge than I first anticipated, I’ve been learning it all over our lands. I had a loose plan to serenade you some time, but I suppose I just destroyed that. As usual, you overturn —”

  
“Don’t be nervous,” Damen said, and it was neither kind nor cruel. It was just a statement. Laurent had no reason to be anxious about this kind of thing with Damen. He forgot, sometimes. He slipped.

  
“I’m merely answering your question.”

  
A kiss landed on Laurent’s temple. “Do you know it all?”

  
“Not by heart.”

  
“Gives me something to look forward to then,” Damen said, as he pushed open a door tucked away in the hallway.

  
“Slave corridors again, Damianos?” Laurent asked, ducking under Damen’s arm.

  
“Something like that. It’s part of the tradition.” He lead them through another door, and another, and they emerged quite suddenly outside the palace. Not just the palace structure but the whole palace grounds.

  
“I may like this part.”

  
“Sneaking out suits you, I remember.” Damen paused, and looked around, like he was making sure they were in the right place. Or not being followed. Laurent like the second option better. “Alas, it is known where we are going. The festival calls for this. Ah, here’s the path.” The path was no more than a line of dirt where other people had walked before. “The King lights the first fire. He also must light the last fire.”

  
“I see,” said Laurent. “I’m not sure I remember that from the literature.”

  
“It’s not well reported. At least, not here. In Isthima, it means more.” Damen was walking now, with the same athletic ease he did anything that involved moving his body. Damen was biased, and often used ridiculous words like graceful and gorgeous to describe Laurent’s movements. Even an awkward jerk, Damen would look on with wonder. The difference was Damen didn’t have to think about it. His body instinctively did the right things. Laurent might be able to ride a horse well and he had forced himself to master disciplines such as swordsmanship and spear throwing but it was never without effort. He had to focus. He had to ignore the sweat beneath his clothes and the fear of making a mistake in order to be successful. “Watch that rock,” Damen said and Laurent rolled his eyes.

  
(He possibly would have fallen over the rock had it not been pointed out. He was walking behind Damen. The chiton was short and the view was distracting.)

  
“Tell me about this part of the tradition,” Laurent said. They were making their way higher up the cliffside now. Below, the sound of merriment was fading. The sky was closer and salt tanged the air.

  
Laurent expected another history lesson. It amused him to see that Damen, who gave the initial impression of caring only for the moment in which he lived, deeply respected the foundations on which his country was built. As a boy, studious Laurent had listened intently to all his tutors said and with complete thrall to all the tales his brother told him. It pleased some part of him to picture Damen as a boy with the same rapt attention to the past (though he also rather expected that for boy Damen the bloodier the better whereas he had only learned to appreciate such things later in life.) In the aftermath of … of Marlas, Laurent had set his impractical studies aside first to learn what a future king might need and later to learn how to exploit and manipulate. Survival, Damen had said one time when Laurent expressed embarrassment at not being as proficient as Damen in languages and analysis.

  
Laurent had not replied.

  
“At the last fire festival my father was still alive,” Damen said. That was not what Laurent expected. “He didn’t make it to the party but he sent for me at this point in the night. I didn’t want to leave the feast. I remember thinking it was pointless. I didn’t need to know this yet. He would be lighting fires for years to come.” He was still walking ahead of Laurent, so his face was not visible. But Laurent saw the rueful shake of Damen’s head and could picture the sheepish shame that would be on his face. “Also,” Damen continued. “I didn’t want to leave Jokaste. She teased about — never mind.”

  
“But you still did as your father bid,” Laurent prompted. That was a given. Also, he did not like to think of what Damen and Jokaste shared before him. Other exploits, Laurent honestly found intriguing and occasionally arousing. He blamed the Vaskians because it was true, and also it was easier than blaming his own decisions.

  
“Of course.” Damen, naturally, sounded offended at the hint of a suggestion that he would not do as his father bid. The cliff was getting steeper. He reached backwards, offering a hand to Laurent to aid him over a rough patch. “He took me on this route, well, halfway up. He told me of the importance of this tradition.”

  
“As of now, you have not told me,” Laurent said.

  
“On a clear day, you can see all the way to Isthima from here,” Damen said. “And they can see us. When Queen Agar brought them into our kingdom, she started the fires. On a clear night, they can see all the way across and see the flames burning. If the waters are calm, some people row out and watch the fires all over the cliffside.”

  
“Fires mean welcome, in Vere.” Also, stay back. Vere was a confusing place.

  
“Here also,” Damen said. “The King lights the first fire in front of his people. He lights the first one alone, all the way up at the highest point of the cliffs, and that one is for the people of Isthima. Queen Agar bore many children and she never missed a festival. Here, through these bushes.” He held them back and Laurent stepped into a clearing right at the edge of the cliffs. This was it, the peak of Ios. There was nothing more above them now but the endless star-scattered sky. The firewood was neatly stacked, and there was water waiting.

  
Laurent went to the edge and looked at the palace below and the town further below. Everywhere, there were fires glowing yellow and orange in the darkness.

  
“All your life in a flatland city and you are not afraid of the cliffs,” Damen said, with some admiration. Laurent’s heart gave a squeeze and he wondered if Damen was thinking about Nesson-Eloy too.

  
“No-one should be afraid of cliffs,” Laurent said. “The fall, on the other hand….”

  
Damen came up behind him and wrapped his arms tightly around his body.

  
Laurent felt like he would never ever fall.

  
“The light of the fires are lovely,” Laurent said.

  
“I hadn’t noticed,” said Damen, with a nuzzle against Laurent’s neck. He really was ridiculous. Laurent really did love that about him.

  
“You come all the way up here alone,” Laurent began.

  
“Not alone.”

“No guard. No witnesses. This is a prime spot for an ambush. Not to mention the danger of falling or —”

  
“Laurent, you know well I don’t need a guard. Witnesses are unimportant. I grew up on these cliffs. And the area was checked earlier today when the fire was laid.”

  
“You could send a servant up here to light the fire and none of those Isthima people would know the difference.” Laurent was looking at it wrong and he knew it. But his nerves were acting up. It was one of those times where Damen’s straightforwardness left him at a loss.

  
“We would know,” Damen said. “Stop acting so Veretian. We both know you would never send someone to do a job you were meant to do yourself.”

  
“It’s called integrity.”

  
“And here was me thinking it was your all-encompassing need to be in control of all things,” Damen countered. His hands were on Laurent’s hips now, his chest flush against his back. Laurent felt the heat of his skin through his clothing. “It’s a matter of trust,” he continued. “They have no proof that the king lights the last fire, too. The king could easily send someone else. But we do not. You should understand this.” His voice a rumble against Laurent’s ears. “Remember your trip to the Kemptian delegation. I could have ignored your request —”

  
“Order.”

  
“You never would have known if I had come in your absence.”

  
“You’re a terrible liar.”

“I’m better a bed play. I could convince you, if I wanted.”

  
“You’re also terribly arrogant. Perhaps I could fix that, with another order,” Laurent said.

  
“I want you to light the fire,” Damen said, serious now.

  
“You must really want to come tonight.”

  
“Laurent.”

  
“Damen, no. It’s a longstanding remit of the Akielon King.”

  
“You said yourself no-one would know who did it.”

  
“Why then —” Laurent began.

  
“I would know,” Damen said. “It’s important to me. I want…we should so all things together, Laurent, where possible.”

  
Laurent had never been any good at resisting Damen’s overtures. “Light the torch,” he said.

  
Damen smiled, brighter than any flame.

  
A spark in the darkness, and the torch in Damen’s hand lit up.

  
“You hold it too,” Laurent said. “We should both light it.”

  
“No-one will know,” Damen said. “There’s no-one spying in the undergrowth.”

  
“We know,” Laurent said. He put his hands on the post bearing the torch, just below Damen’s. He was not surprised when Damen shifted his grip, so their hands were entwined instead. There was no ceremony when they lowered the torch. It wasn’t that different from campfires and candles, except that it was one of those things exclusively royal, typically Akielon and there was a little spark of joy in Laurent’s heart that Damen was sharing himself, again and again and again.

  
The flame caught, low at first, then a burst of fire because the wood had been set well.

  
“In Vere,” Laurent offered. “They light fires like this in Autumn to keep evil spirits away. There are masks and disguises. It’s meant to be fun.”

  
Damen smiled. “Mmm, masks and disguises. Sounds very you.”

  
“Fire lit. Duty over,” Laurent said. “Or is there are third part of this festival for me to learn about?”

  
“No, that’s everything. Why so impatient?”

  
“You promised me a private dessert,” Laurent reminded him. "Among other delights."

  
“So I did. Do you wish to go back to the palace?”

  
Laurent looked out over the cliffs, where the sea and the sky were the same dark colour, interrupted here and there by stars or the white crested waves. The thought of sharing a sweet meal with Damen in the shared sanctuary of their chambers was tempting. Very tempting.

  
Laurent looked down at Ios, the glowing white palace and the flashing red fires on the hillside and in the streets. They’d be leaving them behind soon for the elaborate gloom of Arles. They so rarely got the chance to be truly alone and it stirred contentment inside him alongside the bittersweet taste of old times.

  
“We have all night,” Laurent said, leaning back against Damen’s chest again. “Let’s stay by the firelight a little while longer.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! I had hoped to get this up yesterday and stay on top of the prompts, but it got longer than I expected.


End file.
